


Cracking

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Past Torture, Self-Loathing, Severe Foot Injury, Whumptober 2020, foot injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Anakin let his eyes travel down Obi-Wan’s body, no longer checking for stab wounds or blaster remnants. He looked, knowing what he was going to see, what he should have seen all along. He noticed for the first time Obi-Wan’s boots lying in a pile on the floor, his socks on top of them.He should have noticed before. Why hadn’t he noticed before?He moved again, away from Obi-Wan’s ashen, pain-lined face to his feet.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	Cracking

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Mind the tags :) 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at the same name, I love to chat!

“Obi-Wan, your soup is going to get cold.”

Anakin’s hands stilled over the small pot that was cooking the soup ration they were having for dinner. Ahsoka had her own cup in her hand and was sipping it, though she had looked up curiously as Obi-Wan didn’t appear from the back of the cave they were sheltering in for the second time that Anakin had called him. Obi-Wan had gone to the back part of the cave as soon as they had come in, setting up a second fire and the bedrolls they would sleep on later. The blizzard outside the cave had escalated to where they could not hope to move forward or return to the ship, but the cave would do nicely and according to the weather radar Ahsoka was watching, the storm would be well over near the middle of the night.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin said again, and there was again no answer except a soft, almost imperceptible noise from the shadowed area. He knew that noise. Recognized that noise. He stood up straight, setting his own cup of ration soup on the ground next to the pot. The sound raked right over his nerve-endings, like a cold sliver along his spine.

“Master?” Still no response and the panic swelling in his chest pitched higher; cold sweat starting to form on his hair line. Had the cavern been occupied? By animals, separatists, or worse? He hurried down the thin hallway, registering the faint glow of fire up ahead, sending shadows of wild shapes off the wall. Assassins, beasts, droids, weapons, all spiraling there on the wall. But as he ran into the opening, Ahsoka half step behind him, those things were only shadows.

The fire in the center of the room danced, a thin trail of smoke leaving through a lightsaber-sized hole in the center of the ceiling. His and Ahsoka’s bedrolls were set close to the fire, collecting as much warmth as possible before it was time for sleep. Obi-Wan was not hard to find; he was not missing or attacked or mauled or anything his else his mind had conjured up. He was sitting up on his own bedroll with his back pressed against the cave wall.

Anakin felt the tension leave his shoulders. Obi-Wan must have just been asleep. His old master did not sleep well as it was, and have not slept for more than a couple of hours a night over the last few days as they had trekked through snow and ice and freezing temperatures in an effort to discover what the Separatists might be interested in on this wasteland of a planet.

“Master?” Ahsoka spoke softly, Anakin assumed it was to keep from waking Obi-Wan, and he turned to her. She was not, however, where he expected her to be standing. She was further into the cave, crouched down with her soup balanced carefully in her hand, looking hard at the floor. The light was dim, too dim to see clearly, and Anakin squinted hard at where she was pointing. It was a footprint, spotty, not perfect. His panic sense flared up again; had someone been in here?

He moved his eyes up to Obi-Wan and realized that where he should have seen some sort of relaxation in his features, that his face was drawn in pain, his already-light skin washed pale in the faint fire light. Moving faster than he could register, he was at Obi-Wan’s side, feeling for a pulse on his neck. Someone _had_ attacked him, they must have attacked him.

In the same instant that he pressed his fingers to Obi-Wan’s neck, his master’s eyes opened to stare at him, and Ahsoka spoke. “I think it’s blood,” She said, her own voice confused.

Anakin let his eyes travel down Obi-Wan’s body, no longer checking for stab wounds or blaster remnants. He looked, knowing what he was going to see, what he should have seen all along. He noticed for the first time Obi-Wan’s boots lying in a pile on the floor, his socks on top of them.

He should have noticed before. Why hadn’t he noticed before?

He moved again, away from Obi-Wan’s ashen, pain-lined face to his feet. 

_“Stop!” The scream that was tearing out of Anakin felt like it was coming from someone else. His voice cracked at the top of his yell and the man who had ahold of him had laughed. He remembered thrashing harder to break free then, harder to get away from that man, harder to get to Obi-Wan who he could see was barely contained whatever sound was twisted in his own throat._

_The mission had gone horribly, right from the start, and the two of them were now in the war prisons of the government they had come to try and help, assumed members of the opposing political regime._

_Obi-Wan had told them they were Jedi; they had shown their lightsabers and Republic identification, but it didn’t matter. And now…_

_“Please stop!” He yelled again and knew he was crying. He hated crying, and it was making it hard to see. The rage he felt at the moment didn’t help, bottled in by the force inhibitors they had bound around both him and his master. He felt hollow, that the connections inside him had been drained slowly until all that was left was empty space. And that space was filling with anger, heavy and grating as though he were being tipped full of dessert sand._

_They had left Obi-Wan’s mouth uncovered—unlike his eyes that were knotted with a filthy rag that dug into his temples—and Anakin kept waiting on him to react. To say something. To tell them to stop. To torture Anakin instead, which is what they should have been doing. It was Anakin who had been caught by the men, Anakin who had refused to give information initially, Anakin who was watching his master being tortured now after offering himself for questioning instead._

_A bruise was blooming on the side of his face under his blindfold, the result of backhanded hit when they had started, but the rest of Obi-Wan’s skin visible to Anakin was pale and drawn. His master was strapped to a table, fore inhibitor cuffs on both of his arms, metal clamps keeping him completely still at all of his major joints and his hands flat to table’s surface._

_At first there had been only questions, the occasional electric shock when Obi-Wan refused to answer. The occasional threat to Anakin that was yet to be carried out. After half an hour, it was clear they were tired of this._

_Anakin had not known what to expect. What they might do when Obi-Wan refused to answer their questions. Imprison them, surely. Take them to some higher government official for more specific questioning. Charge them with treason. All of the diplomatic crises they had been taught to deal with at the temple._

_He had not expected this._

_He had not expected the inquisitor to set down the shock probe he was holding and slide a thin, almost imperceptible vibro-blade from his pocket. He had not expected the inquisitor to slip off Obi-Wan’s boots almost slowly, a strange look on his face._

_“Well, Jedi,” The word had sounded like a curse slipping from his mouth. He didn’t believe them. Didn’t think they were Jedi, “I can’t have you leaving before I find out who you really are.”_

_Anakin’s screaming had started when the point had pressed into the ball of Obi-Wan’s left foot, spilling red and freely down to the table._

_By the time they had left them, it was running in a thin, steady stream from the edge of the table to the floor below._

“When did this happen?” Anakin demanded, taking hold of Obi-Wan’s foot by the ankle. “We could have stopped.”

“In a blizzard?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice soft but slightly amused.

Anakin said nothing, knowing Obi-Wan was right but feeling hot shame burning his face. He summoned his pack from next to his own bedroll, reaching for the med-kit. “You have to say something.”

“I didn’t notice.”

Anakin could hear the lie, but said nothing. He took the anti-bacterial wipes from his bag and started to wipe clean the skin. First the blood that still pulsed sluggishly from the heavily cracked skin. The cold had done its work well, drying out the already sensitive skin through the boots and socks that Obi-Wan wore. The skin has swelled until it split along several of the scars that ran over them in grotesque star points and curves, blood staining the rest and rolling from Obi-Wan’s feet to the cover of his bedroll.

“Ahsoka, bring me his boots,” He could feel Ahsoka’s fear but didn’t have the ability to soothe her and not collapse on himself. He worked as steadily as he could to clean the skin as Ahsoka hurried over with Obi-Wan’s shoes.

The socks folded on top were soaked through with blood. Anakin reached into the boot and pulled out the special insoles that Obi-Wan had worn for years; they conformed to his feet and softened every step he took. The blood that had soaked through Obi-Wan’s sock had stained them as well, the soft fabric cover that held the conforming foam in place splattered irregularly with red, barely dotted in some places and sopping in others.

“Get me some water, please.” He said and could hear the choked sound of it. But Ahsoka said nothing, disappearing back into the front portion of the cave to collect snow to melt down in one of their pots.

“Anakin.” More than anything, his master sounded tired. “I’ll be fine, Anakin.”

But Anakin said nothing. Not because he didn’t believe him, but because the anger that he had punched back for years was boiling hot in him again.

_“It’s all right, Anakin.” They had suspended Obi-Wan from the ceiling after that second round of questioning, hid upper body stretched taut and his wrists together in manacles. He could stand, and Anakin had decided that was the worst part. Stand and relieve the pressure on his wrists; lift his feet to keep from standing on the horrible slices crossing his feet and risk severe damage to his wrists. So Anakin had worked as quickly as he could, shifting as silently as possible from his own space in the wall—chains and shackles far looser than his master’s-- until he was at Obi-Wan’s side._

_His own hands, bound together, were locked around Obi-Wan’s legs, bracing his weight to give him some form of relief. It had been fine at first, and the red swirl that had soaked into the stone beneath Obi-Wan had even started to dry. But it had been hours and Anakin’s arms had long ago gone numb and sleep had swelled over him in cresting waves. But each time he nodded and his body slackened, the jerking of Obi-Wan’s legs woke him again._

_His legs would slip from Anakin’s grip and slam into the ground. The third time it had happened, there was a fresh red footprint on the stone and Obi-Wan’s reassurance had come._

_On the sixth, there had been no jerk, but the softest sound from his master that had run along his spine and chilled him so deeply that he hoped he would never hear anything like it again._

_One of the longest nights of his life, so long that when the Ambassador for the planet they were on had burst in in a panic, demanding their immediate release with a profuse apology and healers had taken Obi-Wan and the damp, blood-covered stone had been traded for clean white walls and soft blankets of the medical ward that none of it seemed as though it were part of the same time._

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the images in Anakin’s mind. The smell of blood that he was almost certain was actually his imagination since it seemed that the bleeding now had nearly stopped and that the swelling, with its dips and divots along the scar tissue that played out a sickly pattern, was clear. It brought him back to this moment, to the warmth from the fire in this curving cave that kept the blizzard outside at bay. To Obi-Wan’s looking up at him, always so reluctant to accept medical attention but not protesting as Anakin covered the split cuts with thin smears of bacta gel. To the rattling sound of Ahsoka melting the pot of snow in the front room.

He looked up at his old master, the color returning to Obi-Wan’s face though Anakin knew that the disinfectant had to have stung horribly. He could see the words forming behind Obi-Wan’s eyes. _It’s not your fault, Anakin._ The same thing he had said when Anakin was thirteen and silent in the hospital room. The same thing he said repeated when the healer had spoken about the permanent damage. The same thing he had said on their first mission that there was flare up, when he had nearly fallen on some jungle planet and his feet had swollen so much that Anakin had had to cut his boots away at an agonizingly slow pace and do his best to keep tropical flies away from the sluggishly flowing blood. The same thing he had said in the half dozen times after that.

But the words never came. “Thank you,” He said instead, and Anakin knew it was because Obi-Wan realized that Anakin did not believe him; had never believed him. This was Anakin’s fault. Had always been his fault; if he hadn’t gotten captured, if he had only been stronger, if only he had been able to reach the connection to the force that had hovered at his fingertips…

Anakin finished his first aid work and took the water from Ahsoka, soaking and ringing out the shoe inserts before he laid them to dry near the fire. Ahsoka brought Obi-Wan his soup, freshly steaming and he sipped at it, face still tight with pain but much rosier than it had been. Anakin cleaned the space by his feet, making sure to get the smears of blood off of Obi-Wan’s bedroll, and added the bloodied gauze and wipes to the fire where they curled at the edges, resisting the flame as long as possible before they curled in on themselves.

Obi-Wan made a few attempts to speak after that, and Ahsoka would engage him in conversation until Anakin’s silence was smothering whatever attempt at a good mood there was to preserve. Eventually, when Anakin stood to gather more kindling to place on the fire from the small pile Obi-Wan had collected before collapsing earlier, Ahsoka had huddled down into the pocket of her bedroll to sleep, her face turned away from them. Anakin waited on Obi-Wan to do the same, but he never did. It occurred to Anakin that Obi-Wan could not climb into his bedroll as he normally would; that containing his feet in the bag would surely worsen the swelling or worse, cause them to sweat. So instead Anakin pretended not to watch as Obi-Wan shifted himself around, careful to keep his feet on the roll, uncovered but pointed towards the fire, the blanket pulled all the way up to his nose in the same way that Obi-Wan had slept since Anakin had known him.

Anakin climbed into his own roll, facing the fire because to turn away meant he could not see Obi-Wan. His master’s form flickered in and out of clear sight through the fire, wavering slightly as Anakin’s vision continually readjusted to what it was seeing. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. For Obi-Wan’s dreams to be disturbed, filled with visions of the torture that waited behind every blink of his eyes to torment Anakin. But Obi-Wan slept peacefully, his force signature pulsing gently as it always did in the corner of Anakin’s mind, next to Ahsoka’s who seemed far more troubled that Obi-Wan was, occasionally thrashing around in her sleep—a difficult task given that she was essentially sleeping in a body bag.

Every time he felt sleep coming over him, he could hear that sound again. The one Obi-Wan had uttered, perhaps without meaning to. It chilled him through to his bones and then he was awake again, breathing hard and begging forgiveness.

And it was like that until morning. And when the snow had cleared, he went for the ship by himself. And when he came back for Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan didn’t protest at the supportive arm Anakin used to help keep him upright and his weight off of his feet, stuffed down into his reassembled shoes. And when they returned to Coruscant and the cave was far away and the past far behind him next to Padme, he dreamed of blood, thick and dripping in slow strings from Obi-Wan’s feet, and forgiveness freely given but never quite taken.


End file.
